


Edge of Midnight

by Volky888



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Constipation, Getting Together, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, at least in my mind there is plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volky888/pseuds/Volky888
Summary: Numbers meets Wrench at a bar.a.k.a the two times Numbers runs away after they fuck and the one time he does not.
Relationships: Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sign language in italics.  
> [Written notes in square brackets]

There were few bars within the vicinity of Fargo that Numbers tolerated, and this was one of them. He didn’t always leave with the company that he came for in these fancier establishments, sure, but at least here he didn’t feel completely out of place wearing his suit jacket. And their liquor seemed less watered down than some of the other shitholes that he’s been to in search of a quick fuck.

But as it happens, the night wasn’t going that well for him.

Weekends didn’t really exist in his line of work, and being on-call 24/7 took its toll on Numbers. He was only 25, but in his spirit, he felt like he was edging on 50 sometimes. His temper was becoming more and more erratic, and the slightest things can piss him off for a whole day. Somewhere in the back of his head, the word “burnout” lingered, but Numbers wasn’t completely sure if that concept existed in his line of work.

Fargo had called earlier in the day, setting up an in-person meeting with Numbers for tomorrow, a Sunday. So to ease his restless itch to both do something and not do anything and maybe salvage his weekend, he’d come to this bar to look for someone to spend the night with. Yet three shots and exactly zero effort to talk to a single other person later, it didn’t seem like anyone was going to do the work and help Numbers get laid. So Numbers just sat at his seat, frowning menacingly into the dark as he contemplated going home.

Then at the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw a wildly inappropriate flash of fringes.

Why anyone would wear a cowboy jacket in North Dakota in this day and age was beyond Numbers. But as he turned to get a better look at the owner of the jacket, he came to the conclusion that maybe he didn’t mind it if the jacket was hugging the torso of a 6 feet something man with an oddly handsome visage.

And he certainly didn’t mind when the man started walking towards him. And, huh, he just slid Numbers a piece of paper.

Numbers focused his vision. [Can I get you another drink?] The loopy handwriting read.

Numbers gave the man a once over again. The stranger has an imposing stature, easily towering over Numbers. His hair has a slight tinge of red in it, and his face is framed by muttonchops. His eyes were clear, and currently fixed intently on Numbers.

Internally, Numbers reasoned with himself. The stranger was – realistically, not that Numbers would ever admit it – someone he didn’t stand a good chance against in a fist fight. This is always a factor to consider when looking for brutes to hook up with, in case things went south. However, as Numbers shifted his gaze at the stranger again, Numbers can feel a shiver trying to run down his spine just from the way the man was looking at him. After sitting around looking grumpy for a whole night, this feels like a lottery jackpot falling out of the sky and hitting him on the face. There’s no way Numbers was going to back down now.

He quickly scribbled something on the paper and slid it back to the stranger.

[I don’t want another drink. But there’s something else I think you can help me with.] The stranger read the note, then quirked a half amused eyebrow at Numbers. Numbers leans forwards, letting his gaze flit down to the stranger’s lips and then back up to his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here.” Numbers says.

The stranger seemed to understand, cocking his head towards the exit as he stood up to leave.

Numbers, still unsure if the tall handsome man is deaf or just chose to write on paper for the flair of it, grabbed the note and pen with him as they left the bar together. Just in case.

They end up at the stranger’s studio apartment, a mere 5 minutes’ walk away from the bar. It’s not a good part of town, and the complex is clearly out of maintenance. Although Numbers is well acquainted with these types of buildings from his work, he still feels a little apprehensive as he follows the stranger in up the dark hallways. But in the end, Numbers figures if he ends up dead on account of being horny, then at least he won’t have to go to work tomorrow.

The moment the door closes behind him, the stranger turns around and pins him against it. Numbers’ fight instincts activates for a second before he feels soft lips kissing his neck, insistent. Large hands work their way down his back, firmly grabbing his ass underneath his coat, pulling Numbers flush to the stranger’s body. Numbers groans as he feels himself growing half hard under the stranger’s attention, the other man’s mouth slowly working its way to Numbers’ ear and mouth…

Numbers pushes the stranger, effectively separating them.

He pants a little, holding up a finger between them as the tall man looks at him like a mixture of a kicked puppy and a lion about to tear his throat out. Numbers clears his throat.

“No kissing. Not on the lips.” Numbers says.

The stranger huffs – and Numbers gets the distinct feeling he’s being scoffed at – and then he nods.

Satisfied that his one rule has been understood, Numbers eagerly reaches out for the tall man again, grabbing a fist of the strange cowboy jacket and tugging it off the man’s broad shoulders. He feels the other’s hands nimbly working on undoing his own coat buttons as he pushes the stranger further into the apartment in the direction of the bed in the corner of the room.

By the time the other man has been backed into his own bed, Numbers had lost his coat, and the stranger was working on the last of his long row of shirt buttons. Numbers straddled the man, excitement coiling in his belly as he felt the other’s hard cock rubbing against him through their pants. The stranger all but yanked his dress shirt off, eyes widening a fraction at Numbers’ tattoo littered torso. His thumb softly traced a few lines of ink before he leaned in to lap at Numbers’ collarbones, kissing and sucking and biting in a way that sent Numbers into a daze. The other man had one hand on Numbers’ back to keep him close, while the other ran across the expanse of Numbers’ hairy chest, absent mindedly rubbing at a nipple.

Numbers ran an impatient hand under the strangers’ soft turtleneck, breaking them apart momentarily to pull the offending article of clothing off. He was immediately caught off guard by the stranger’s toned body, sturdy and built like a Greek statue, fair skin marred in places with scars, and light copper colored hair trailing from his toned abs to his crotch, which was unfortunately still covered by jeans.

Numbers breathed heavily for a little bit, gently running his hand over the beautiful body in front of him. When he finally looked up at the stranger again, it was all he could do to suppress the full body shudder that threatened to break out from intensity of the other man’s stare. So he did the only thing he could think of to distract both of them, and ground his hips into the other man firmly.

The man groaned. Numbers faintly noted that it was the first noise he’d heard the man make all night, but he was quickly broken out of this thought when the taller man grabbed him by the waist and flipped him down onto the mattress, switching their positions. By the time Numbers got his bearings again, the stranger was already kissing a trail down his stomach while unbuckling his belt. His cock sprang free moments later, and Numbers let out a whine as the man teased him, stroking him with feather soft touches and kissing the tip, before finally taking him into his mouth fully, his tongue moving in such a way that made Numbers want desperately buck up.

Firm hands held him down by the hips as the stranger pulled away from sucking Numbers’ cock, this time Numbers trembled visibly. The stranger grinned down at Numbers’ disheveled state before finally unbuckling his own belt, pulling his pants down at last. Numbers felt his mouth go dry a little at the sight.

He had hoped, of course, that the man would have a dick that was worth taking up his ass, but Numbers wasn’t quite prepared to have his expectations met and _surpassed_.

The stranger looked a little smug at Numbers’ reaction, so Numbers trained his expression back into a scowl again as the stranger reached into the night stand and produced a bottle of lube and a condom. The man slicked up his fingers before turning to face Numbers again, raising an eyebrow in lieu of asking for permission. When Numbers nodded, he promptly slipped a finger into the smaller man. Numbers hissed, head pushing back into the mattress as the other man kissed his neck to distract him, all the while gently prodding and working him open, adding a second finger and then a third when Numbers finally relaxed enough from the initial intrusion.

Numbers dug his fingers into the man’s copper colored hair, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Fuck me already, big guy.”

Green eyes widened in lust, and the larger man wasted no time, removing his fingers and rolling on the condom before lining himself up with Numbers’ hole. Gaze still fixed on Numbers, he pushed inside in one fluid movement as Numbers bit his own lips to stop himself from moaning too loudly. Numbers clawed at the stranger’s back, hoping to find purchase in the firm muscles as the man on top of him started thrusting in a steady rhythm, fully sheathing himself each time and stretching Numbers the way he so desperately needed. Numbers closed his eyes, hands gripping the other man in an attempt to pull him closer, deeper.

The other man picked up the pace, driving into Numbers with force as his own breath became more labored. He wrapped a hand around Numbers’ leaking cock, slick with spit and precome, and started pumping in time with his thrusts. Numbers moaned obscenely, opening his eyes to see the other man’s hard cock pounding into himself before his vision went blank and all he could do was grab onto the sheets beneath as he came hard, body shuddering and arching, spilling all over the stranger’s hand and his own stomach. He felt the man above him bite at his nape, enough to bruise but not enough to draw blood, and then the larger man was shuddering at his own release, face tucked into the crook of Numbers’ neck, grunting as he trembled.

He allowed the stranger to lay on top of him for a little while, both of them too blissed out to care about much else. Eventually, he found the stranger’s heavy body to be a little too warm, and nudged him to get his attention. The copper haired man raised his head just enough to look at Numbers’ face.

“You’re too sweaty, get off.”

The larger man frowned at him, but complied. He pulled out of Numbers, discarding the used condom in to a bin by the bed, before plopping himself down on the bed again, contentedly spreading out and laying back. Numbers felt the afterglow slowly dissipate as his mind came back into focus, and decided it was time he made his exit. The sex was good, but he’d rather spend the night in his own bed.

Without looking at the handsome stranger next to him on the bed, he got up and redressed himself, hunting down his discarded items of clothing in a trail to the door, like backtracking their frenzied footsteps from earlier in the night. He turned around at the door, the man on the bed was still naked, and he looked at Numbers with an expression of amusement. Numbers tried to burn the image into his brain as he opened the door and left, already knowing that he’d be replaying this night for months to come when tending to his own needs.

\-----------

The next morning, Numbers missed several alarms. His body was more relaxed than usual after the night of alcohol and a good fuck. And so, 15 minutes before his work meeting at 11am, Numbers burst out the door of his own cabin, cursing under his breath as he started his car to drive to the office. Carlyle valued punctuality and efficiency, and Numbers wasn’t keen on being on the receiving end of his judgmental stares for arriving late.

He takes the stairs two at a time when he arrives at Fargo headquarters, only slightly out of breath as he pushes open the door to the meeting room, 11:01am.

“Mr. Numbers,” Carlyle drones out in his monotonous way, “Please take a seat.”

Numbers moves to do so when his eyes catch sight of the second person sitting in the room, and he feels his blood run cold as his eyes widen in recognition.

“As you know, we’ve been searching for a replacement for your recently deceased partner,” Carlyle continued, not noticing the way Numbers’ brain has apparently short circuited, “And I called you here today for formal introductions.”

Carlyle gestures in the direction of the familiar man wearing that all-too-recognizable fringed cowboy jacket, a mess of copper curls and piercing green eyes burning holes into Numbers’ face.

“Mr. Numbers, meet Mr. Wrench.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me with fargo open in google maps while I type this story: please god i don't know where north dakota is.  
> One of these days I’ll stop naming all my fics after whatever song I happen to be listening to at the moment. Today is not that day.


	2. Chapter 2

“You know a bit of ASL, right?” Carlyle asks.

“Hm? Oh. Yes.” Numbers is dragged out of his thoughts, currently going 300 miles per second, “But only basics.”

“Good enough, Mr. Wrench here is deaf.”

But Numbers already kind of knew that.

In his mind, he was working through a hundred different excuses for getting himself out of this without divulging the fact that he had already accidentally had sex with his new partner, but all his excuses seemed insufficient as Carlyle slid him a neat folder containing their first assignment together.

“You head out tomorrow, I expect you to be done by Tuesday.” Carlyle got up to leave the room, “Report back to me on Wednesday.” And with that, he left the room without Numbers ever getting a word in.

Numbers turned his gaze to Wrench, whose frown mirrored his own.

 _We need to talk_ , Numbers signed clumsily.

They find a dim little café a few blocks from the office, and Numbers asks for a strong black coffee while his new partner asks for a lemonade. Numbers laughs a little at Wrench’s choice of drink before he’s hit with the reality of his situation, and all semblance of lightheartedness promptly disappears. He stares at the blank notepad in front of him, gripping his pen with such force that he’s sure the plastic is sure to shatter soon. For life of him, he could not figure out how to start this conversation.

Wrench taps him lightly on the knuckles, tapping on the paper and then pointing back at himself. Numbers hands him the notepad and pen, and watches Wrench put down the same loopy handwriting as that first note he passed him at the bar.

[I had fun last night. But if you want, we can pretend it never happened.]

Numbers scowls at the note, then scowls at Wrench, who doesn’t seem to be joking.

 _Good_ , Numbers signs. Then for good measure, he underlines “never” twice.

\-----------

Their first job together is relatively simple. Drive four hours to Minot, locate and dispose of a little office man that made off with a little bit of Fargo’s assets, retrieve the assets, drive back. Carlyle had allotted them two days for the job, but Numbers was an enthusiast for getting the job done as fast as possible, and so midnight of the first day, they’ve already buried the body in a remote location, a duffle bag full of Fargo’s belongings safely stowed in the backseat of their car.

It was too late to drive back, so Numbers found a motel and got them a room.

It had been a long day, and Numbers wanted nothing more than to be unconscious in the comfort of his own bed, but alas, his tiny motel bed was stiff and creaky. He sighed deeply as he pushed off his shoes. Wrench was waving for his attention at the other side of the room.

_You need the shower?_

_You can go first_. Numbers replied.

Wrench nodded, and shrugged off his jacket, his second jacket, his turtle neck-

Numbers angrily threw a shoe at him.

Wrench turned around, irked. _What_?

_Must you U-N-D-R-E-S-S here??_

Wrench huffed a laugh. _Nothing you haven’t seen before_.

Numbers’ hands fumbled as he tried to come up with a response, but Wrench disappeared into the bathroom before he could. A moment later the shower turned on, and Numbers could only run his hands through his hair as he tried to process his situation.

Outside of a work context, Numbers would have been happy to see Wrench again. Of that he was sure. The guy was hot as hell and an excellent lay, Numbers should have nothing to complain about. His mind wandered slightly as he remembered exactly how good a lay Wrench was. Then he quickly reprimanded himself for it, reminding himself of their pact to never mention that night again. But just thinking of it doesn’t equate to mentioning it out loud, right? A man still has urges, no matter now professional he needs to act.

Numbers shuddered, feeling himself growing hard with where that train of thought was taking him. His ears told him that the shower was still on, and he quickly wondered if he could beat one out before his partner was done.

Unhelpfully, his mind supplied him an image from earlier in the day, during their interrogation of their unfortunate victim. Wrench had demonstrated clearly that his muscles weren’t just for show, first beating the office man within an inch of his life, and then hauling the body onto his shoulders to follow Numbers through the woods. Numbers had felt distinctly sweaty all day.

The shower was still on, and Numbers was now hard. He didn’t think he could hide this to deal with in the shower, so he decided to take care of it before Wrench finished in the bathroom. He laid back on his bed, quickly unbuckled himself and let his hand grip his dick, breathing out a sigh of relief as his fingers provided much needed pressure. He worked himself urgently, closing his eyes and trying desperately to think of any of the other people he’d been with before, but images of Wrench’s green eyes was the only thing his mind supplied.

“Shit,” Numbers covered his face with his forearm, bucking up a little into his own hand.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Numbers nearly jumped up from his bed, the shower was still running, he could hear the water clearly. He threw a sheet over himself as best as he can just as Wrench exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips and a frown on his face. Wrench headed straight to his own packed bag, not sparing Numbers a look as he grabbed a bottle of shampoo.

 _I forgot they don’t provide shampoo_. He signed by way of explanation as he started to head back to the bathroom, and then he paused when his eyes took in the way Numbers’ hair was ruffled just so, his cheeks slightly pink, and the way the sheet was haphazardly thrown across his legs even though he had clearly not taken his pants off yet.

Wrench smirked at Numbers.

Numbers wanted to strangle the man. Or push him onto the floor and fuck him until he saw stars. But before he could decide on which path of action to take, Wrench went back into the bathroom as if nothing happened.

Numbers felt his jaw drop in indignation as he listened to Wrench finish his shower.

Five minutes later, Wrench padded out from the shower, a pair of boxers on his hips and his towel slung over his shoulder.

Numbers was determinedly not making eye contact, but that didn’t stop Wrench from tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention. Numbers turned to face him with the most menacing expression he could muster.

 _I’m sorry about interrupting just now_. Wrench’s hand moved slowly, and then a small smirk worked its way to Wrench’s lips. W _ere you thinking about me?_

“Cocky bastard.” Numbers snarled out before lunging at Wrench.

He knocks Wrench into the bedside table hard, but even then Numbers doesn’t quite manage to take him off balance. Wrench has his hands firmly grabbing Numbers’ shoulders, and the momentum of the two of them lands Wrench in the other bed. Numbers takes the momentary upper hand and straddles Wrench across the stomach, locking him down onto the bed. He bares his teeth in an ugly smile of victory, but it is short lived as Wrench grounds his hips upwards, making Numbers groan instead.

He was growing very uncomfortable with the combination of his unfinished hard on and the sight of his partner’s glistening muscles underneath.

Wrench seemed to understand Numbers’ predicament, but doesn’t make a move. He waits patiently under Numbers as the bearded man grows increasingly more frustrated.

All logical reasoning flies out the window when Numbers feels Wrench’s dick growing hard underneath him.

With fumbling hands, Numbers grabs at any part of Wrench that he can reach. His shoulders, his arms, his chest, his hair. He latches his lips onto Wrench’s chest, biting and roughly kissing as he feels Wrench’s hands trailing down his torso, languidly exploring Numbers’ hairy body.

Numbers briefly pauses to discard his own pants, and Wrench’s boxers are quickly removed of too. Numbers settles back on top of Wrench as Wrench wraps a hand around both of their erections, rocking up slightly. The feeling of their cocks grinding together makes Numbers moan in relief, and he wastes no time in producing a bottle of lube and slicking himself up. Wrench watches with wide eyes as Numbers stretches himself open, putting on just a little bit of a show as he fingers himself, cock still firmly in Wrench’s grasp.

Numbers shudders a little when he feels he couldn’t wait any longer.

_Sit back._

Wrench complies.

Carefully lining himself up with Wrench’s leaking erection, Numbers lowers himself onto it slowly. He bites down inside his lip as he feels Wrench stretching him beyond what his three fingers had prepared him for, but he welcomes the pain and immediately starts moving, bouncing himself up and down lightly and letting out a string of colorful curses at the feeling. Wrench has his hands on Numbers’ hips, gripping him tightly and steadying the smaller man as he fucks himself on Wrench’s cock.

Numbers comes faster than he’d like to admit, but he felt that Wrench at least owed him that much after all the shit he put Numbers through. Wrench gives him a moment to catch his breath before fucking up into Numbers hard, chasing his own release. Numbers think he blanks out a little from the overstimulation, clawing at Wrench’s back for purchase.

Afterwards, when they’ve both collected themselves a bit, Numbers gets up on weak knees to take a cold shower.

They sleep on their separate beds.

They drive back to Fargo.

They don’t talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did Wrench take so long in the shower before finally realizing he needed shampoo, you ask? Well,


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Wrench sees Numbers’ new tattoo, he laughs. Numbers never heard the man laugh before, and he thinks he would cherish the memory if only his partner wasn’t laughing at _him_.

 _What_? He signs irritably.

Wrench still has a look of genuine amusement on his face. “ _Boundaries.” Really?_

Numbers frowned. His new tattoo was very much on the nose, but he thought he’d needed a _very_ strong reminder at _all_ times if he was going to keep this professional partnership working.

 _You already know what it means._ Numbers replies sternly.

Wrench only shrugs, and goes back to the book that he was reading on his motel bed. Numbers finishes drying his own hair, still damp from the shower, and then tucks himself in to bed gruffly. After a while, he hears Wrench put down his book gently and turn in too.

They’ve been partners for two months now, with no further “incident”. Numbers had woken up on the morning after their first job, and cursed himself for being a weak willed man. After they’d made the report to Carlyle, he turned on his heels and left Wrench in the dust, heading straight to the tattoo parlor. Over the years, the tattoo artist has learnt to not ask Numbers questions.

The inked words are completely healed now, and Numbers feels at peace. He still has urges, both of them do, but they’re fine just jerking off in the shower alone, this is the routine that works. Business and pleasure don’t mix, not to Numbers. Occasionally Numbers returns to bars and hopes to pick up someone new, but somehow they’re always not quite tall enough, or ginger enough.

Regardless, Numbers is determined to suppress any and all urges that can become a problem on the job, and he think he’s doing a fine job at it.

Wrench turned out to be an incredible partner out of bed too, after all, and Numbers wasn’t too keen on losing someone that he could actually count on to watch his back. His ASL from childhood gradually came back to him, and Wrench took the liberty of teaching him some more job specific vocabulary. He even taught Numbers cuss words, so that Numbers can make sure Wrench gets the full colorful experience of conversing with him.

As he drifted off to sleep, Numbers vaguely wondered if he could call Wrench a friend.

\-----------

The two hitmen work well together, that was evident from their building track record over the year. Tripoli was especially pleased after Mr. Numbers and Mr. Wrench managed to gun down a particular tricky group of traitors, and return their heads in bags to office, along with all the money and drugs that the traitors had initially made off with.

“A raise?” Numbers parroted back at Carlyle, after having been called in for another in-person meeting with Wrench at the office.

“Yes. Boss feels that it’s fitting, considering the work you’ve done for us recently.”

Judging by the expression on Carlyle’s face, he’d personally rather die than give anyone a raise.

“Of course, this would mean that you get tougher jobs, longer operations, etc.” Carlyle droned on.

“Naturally.” Numbers agreed.

 _We should get a drink to celebrate._ Wrench signed next to him.

Carlyle narrowed his eyes at Wrench.

“He says he’s honored by your trust, sir.” Numbers translates.

Carlyle dismisses them with a wave of his hand.

 _You can’t just sign whatever you want in front of the bosses_. Numbers signs exasperatedly after they leave the office.

Wrench scoffs. _It’s not like any of them would ever bother to learn ASL._

_You never know._

Wrench gets into the driver’s seat. _I was serious about the drink, though. We should celebrate._

Numbers thinks about his non-existent social life, and how everything he does nowadays always seems to circle back to Wrench, and nods.

They drive to one of Numbers’ old haunts. The place is exactly how Numbers remembers it, crowded with loud music, a severely understaffed bar, and decent enough lighting that they can still sign. Numbers orders whisky for himself and beer for Wrench.

Wrench raises his glass, a smile tugging at his lips. Numbers clinks glass with him and they each take a drink before Wrench signs.

_Happy 1 year anniversary._

_For what?_

_For us being work partners._

Numbers pauses to absorb the thought.

_Has it been that long?_

Wrench’s hand knocks a firm yes. Numbers drags his hands down his face, once again feeling ancient.

 _I can’t believe you remember things like that_. Numbers signed.

_If it’s important, I’ll always remember._

Numbers squinted at the response; he wasn’t completely sure where Wrench was going with this.

_What do you mean “important”?_

Wrench took a swig of his beer, thinking about his response. _I mean you. You’re important to me. I’ve never had a partner that actually wanted to keep me alive._

Numbers nodded in understanding. _I feel the same_.

Wrench grinned at him, a boyish look that Numbers didn’t get to see often, and Numbers feels his inside clench and his heart skip a beat. He quickly hids it by finishing the rest of his whisky and ordering another one.

 _Working with you feels natural_. Wrench continued. _I’m glad you didn’t decide to ask Carlyle for a new partner._

 _Why would I do that_? Numbers frowned.

Wrench raised a pointed eyebrow, and gestured towards his collarbone, where a certain word was spelled out in permanent ink.

Numbers sighed deeply. _So maybe I overreacted a bit._

_I’m surprised you would admit that._

_Don’t get used to it._

They spend the rest of the night discussing anything that pops into their heads; making each other laugh on stupid jokes as the rest of the world fades around them, until they can only see each other.

When Wrench drops Numbers off at his cabin way past midnight, Numbers feels a sharp desire to ask Wrench to stay.

He doesn’t ask. And so Wrench leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrench: *leaves  
> Numbers: Baby Come Back - Players


	4. Chapter 4

Another month passes. They get sent out to two or three small jobs, Fargo seems to be on a rare streak of good luck, and Tripoli doesn’t need too many wayward souls taken care of.

In their down time, Numbers finds himself missing Wrench.

At first he tells himself he’s just itching to get laid again. But he quickly realizes he’s lying to himself when his mind unhelpfully conjures up scenarios where Wrench comes over to the cabin and they do things other than fuck, like watching TV and making fun of the characters together, maybe cooking together. Maybe even – in Numbers’ wildest imaginations – just sleeping together, sharing a bed, intimate in a way they’d never been before, even when they were fucking.

He finds himself in bed, staring at the ceiling as he tries to figure out what this means.

Two days later the call from Fargo arrives. New job, new location, new name.

Numbers all but jumps to start packing.

The hit is pretty local, just under an hour’s drive to Twin Valley. Numbers is almost disappointed they don’t get to spend more time together.

As soon as arrive, it’s clear that the information Carlyle has provided them with is not completely up to date.

 _He’s got protection._ Wrench signs, looking through binoculars. _Four men, armed_.

Numbers scowls. _Anyone we recognize?_

 _No. Maybe freelancers, maybe a rival gang_ , _maybe plainclothes_.

_I should call Carlyle and let him know we’re outnumbered._

_You think he’ll send backup?_

_Worth a try._

Carlyle does not send backup. All the other agents are indisposed, he says, and this is time sensitive. They need to take out the rat immediately, outnumbered or not. Numbers and Wrench work out a plan for ambush, carefully planning out their steps for taking out all the men holed up in that little warehouse in the woods.

Wrench positions himself with a rifle carefully as Numbers sets fire to the backdoor. Minutes later, Numbers circles around into Wrench’s view again, both of them in position to take out anyone that comes out the front door.

And come out they do.

Two men barrels through the wooden door, armed to the teeth, firing indiscriminately into the woods. Wrench dodges behind a tree, firing back when he feels a brief pause in the assault. A third man emerges with their rat in tow, and tries to make a run for it in Numbers’ direction. Both are promptly put out of their misery.

 _One more_ , Wrench tallies in his head. He frowns at the front door, the last man couldn’t possibly stay in the warehouse longer with the way the fire was growing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Numbers aiming a gun at him - No, at someone behind him. Then he feels the knife in his shoulder. Wrench stumbles, pain wracking through his brain. He sees Numbers fire once, and knows he’s hit the target behind him when Numbers lowers his gun and makes a beeline for Wrench.

Wrench feels Numbers’ worried hands on him, checking him for other injuries.

 _I’m fine_. He signs shakily. The knife didn’t seem to hit anything important, even though it hurt like hell.

Numbers only rolled his eyes, and then took off his scarf and bringing it close to Wrench’s lips.

_Bite this._

Numbers looked apologetic, Wrench understood what he meant to do, and did his best to brace himself for it.

The knife left Wrench in one swift movement, Wrench could feel the yell he’d let out into Numbers’ scarf, and tried to catch his breath and slow his heart rate. Numbers pulled the knife out cleanly, and quickly pressed the wound with his hand to stop the blood from flowing freely.

He leaned on Numbers heavily and made their way back to the car.

 _Wait here,_ Numbers signed _, I’ll finish up._

Wrench nodded.

Numbers drove like a madman all the way back to Fargo.

Wrench tried in vain to convince Numbers to slow down, that he was not going to pass away so easily from just a knife wound. They pulled up at Wrench’s apartment in record time, and Numbers hurriedly got out of the driver’s seat to help Wrench get out. Wrench thinks it’s almost cute how he’s acting like a mother hen.

 _I’m fine, I can walk by myself_. Wrench signs, gently pushing Numbers aside to walk towards his apartment. He can feel Numbers frowning at his back.

During the entire process of cleaning and stitching up the wound, Numbers looked profoundly angry. Wrench was beginning to suspect he actually pissed Numbers off when the grumpy man signed. _I shouldn’t have just shot the guy. Should have made him suffer more_.

Wrench smiled a little. _I’ve had worse before, don’t worry_.

Numbers frowned harder. He put away the first aid kit neatly as Wrench settled on the couch, spreading out his long legs tiredly and leaning back with a small grimace at the pain.

Numbers tapped Wrench on the knee. _Do you need me to stay?_

_If you don’t mind._

Numbers sleeps on the couch. He’s not entirely sure that his confused brain won’t just dissolve if they shared a bed right now. In the back of his mind he was aware that there was something very important he needs to talk to Wrench about, but out of habit, the more conscious part of his brain was also doing its best to suppress that entire train of thought.

He makes breakfast the next day for Wrench, and then heads out to grab more supplies. Wrench is there to open the door for him when he comes back, and Numbers thinks he might just be able to do this forever.

Wrench’s wound is considerably better after two days, and the man himself looks a lot more chipper too, always grinning and smiling at Numbers.

After a week, Numbers realizes that he no longer had a reason to stay at Wrench’s apartment. The wound was practically not a concern anymore. So after lunch, he braces himself for his inevitable eviction.

 _You don’t need me to stay here anymore_. Numbers states like a fact.

Wrench raises his eyebrows before knotting them down into a frown. _I suppose not_.

Numbers sighs. _I guess I’ll pack up then_.

Wrench stands up abruptly and takes two wide strides towards Numbers.

 _But I_ want _you to stay_. He signs firmly.

Numbers thinks he read the signs wrong, but at the same time he can feel his heart rate increasing rapidly. He doesn’t know who closed the distance between them, but the next thing he knows there’s a pair of soft lips kissing his mouth, warm and gentle. It’s brief, and it’s over when Wrench pulls back, looking at Numbers almost worriedly, trying to gauge his reaction.

Something breaks like a dam inside Numbers. He grabs Wrench by the neck and pulls him in for another kiss, deeper, needier, more violent. Like they both forget how to breathe and the only thing that can keep them alive is the taste of each other. Numbers feels a hand threading softly through his hair, massaging his scalp.

They stumble blindly to Wrench’s bed, hands undoing buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Numbers is oblivious to everything that isn’t Wrench, and he feels warm in every inch of his body when Wrench caresses his face before leaning down for a kiss again. He whispers Wrench’s name, just to hear how wrecked his own voice is.

Wrench fucks him slow. He takes his time lavishing attention on every bit of skin he can reach as he thrusts into Numbers, and Numbers holds him tight, holds him close, and doesn’t want to let go.

This time, Numbers doesn’t close his eyes. He looks at Wrench as the other man comes, taking in the way Wrench scrunches his eyes closed and bares his teeth before his features smooth out as the waves of pleasure rush through him. Numbers burns it all into his memory.

Wrench holds him after, both men exhausted and content. There’s a small smile on Wrench’s face as he looks at Numbers, thumb rubbing circles into the back of Numbers’ hand.

Numbers realizes he’s head over heels in love with his partner.

His thoughts hit him all at once and he feels like he’s suffocating. His breathing pace picks up, and he must look a little panicked because Wrench looks at him with an enquiring expression of worry.

Numbers sits up abruptly, disturbing the warmth around them as his bare skin meets the cold air of Wrench’s apartment. Wrench half leans up behind him on the bed, looking more anxious by the second. Numbers’ hands hang helplessly limp as he struggles to find the signs to express himself.

 _Were you just waiting for me to figure it out this whole time_? Numbers finally asks.

 _Figure what out_. Wrench looks nervous too.

 _That I. That I…_ His hands shake, messing up the simple signs. _That I love you_.

Wrench lets out a breath of relief, smile lighting up his face. _I just hoped that you would reciprocate one day, you seemed so determined to keep me at arm’s length._

Numbers laughs, his shoulders shaking as he hangs his head. Wrench taps him on the arm to get his attention.

_I love you too, you fool._

\-----------

Wrench’s apartment lease was month-by-month, so by the end of the week, they’d packed up all his personal belongings. They move in together to Numbers’ cabin in the woods. It’s quiet and secluded, and Numbers thinks it somehow feels warmer with an extra person living there now.

They do all the things Numbers wanted to do. All the mundane things in life he never got to share with another person before. All the mundane things he’d never allowed himself to share with another person before.

He allows himself to be kissed, and Wrench is generous in providing him with just that.

Between work and home, they spend nearly all their waking hours together.

Numbers never gets tired of any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers is emotionally constipated enough that he’d be thinking of buying Wrench flowers and chocolate and a puppy and still justify it to himself as “oh we’re just good friends. This is what good friends do, right?”
> 
> Thanks for reading my first long-ish fic!! I can't believe these two idiots hit me this hard out of left field in the year 2020.
> 
> Twitter @volky888


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